Nana Jo tucked him into his bed. “Close your eyes. Imagine the Nappi Noodle starting at the top of your head. Let it slide down.”
“I don’t want to take a nap!” Leo grumbled.
“Well,” she said, “the Nappi Noodle stretches from your head to your toes. But here’s the trick—it’s a noodle that loves to be relaxed. If you scrunch up your face, the Nappi Noodle gets all tangled. If you kick your feet, it flops onto the floor. But if you lie quietly and take three slow breaths…” nappi noodle
Leo’s eyes grew wide. “Can I try?”
Leo closed his eyes. He imagined a soft, warm noodle—like spaghetti, but friendlier. It slid down his forehead. He relaxed his eyebrows. It slid down his cheeks. He unclenched his jaw. It curled around his shoulders, and his arms went heavy. Nana Jo tucked him into his bed
Nana Jo sat down beside him. “Ah. You haven’t met the yet, have you?”
“Oh yes,” Nana Jo whispered. “The Nappi Noodle is a very special, invisible noodle that lives inside every cozy blanket. It’s long, soft, and a little bit wobbly. And it only comes out when you lie very still.” Let it slide down
One afternoon, Leo’s grandmother, Nana Jo, came to visit. She found Leo hiding under the kitchen table, wrapped in a blanket, pretending to be a sleepy turtle.
